


But Cover Thy Face With A Veil

by Skeiler



Series: CONFIDENCE [2]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Episode: S07E02 - RAGA, Spoilers, a royal opera house full of people conveniently looking the other way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22783156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skeiler/pseuds/Skeiler
Summary: CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR ENDEAVOUR S7 E2 RAGA. — Ludo makes good on his threat to take Morse to the opera, and Morse gets far more than good seats.
Relationships: Endeavour Morse/Ludo Talenti
Series: CONFIDENCE [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138580
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	But Cover Thy Face With A Veil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bexpls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexpls/gifts).



> This fic is not in keeping with my other one. In this one I'm working from the assumption Morse is sleeping with both Ludo and Violetta and the two don't know about the other.
> 
> Fun fact! The Royal Opera put on Salome in June, 1970, so I'm personally dating this at 27 June 1970, which would be slightly more than a week after the end of ‘Raga.’
> 
> Dedicating this to bexpls / georgefancys on tumblr after a conversation we had about Ludo and opera and smut.

They go to the opera, Ludo and Morse, at the end of a long week. Another body on the towpath just like Molly Andrews’ has thrown a great deal into chaos and Morse is at home relishing a chance to breathe, a chance to listen to something other than Thursday’s indirect ‘I knew it, I told you so’s. His house is still far from being even remotely presentable, but with the old wallpaper cleared away it’s beginning to have something of a feeling of _potential_ for Morse, of _possibility_. A feeling that this could be a home, a forever, shaped into whatever fashion he wanted.

And then Ludo, like the proverbial whirlwind (though Morse will not admit that he himself has sown the wind), had arrived and caught Morse up in his charm and his energy and before Morse was quite sure what was happening they were speeding towards London in Ludo’s convertible and Morse was in his evening suit and Ludo was talking without pausing or realising (or caring) that half his words were being snatched away by the air, talking about going to Rio in August or perhaps he said Riviera.

When they arrive in Covent Garden, the opera house is swarming with eager ticket-holders even though there’s more than half an hour before the performance. Ludo insists on a drink in the bar, then orders a bottle of champagne (Morse is not given a say in the matter, but he doesn’t complain about the ’52 brut they’re presented with). Sipping rather rapidly to keep pace with Ludo, Morse tries to avoid any talk about Violetta.

“You said you were heading abroad again earlier. More fundraising for your family’s charity?”

“Yes, you know how it is,” Ludo replies merrily. “We’re involved in so many projects—orphans, natural disasters, medical research, it’s difficult to keep track of them all sometimes. But we’re always looking for new partners, planning new benefit concerts, things of this nature and I’m afraid it will take me away from you too often.”

Morse does not know how it is, but he nods anyway and finishes his champagne. “I envy you, getting to see so much of the world.”

“Oh, I see very little of it,” Ludo sighs and refills their glasses. “Not like Violetta, when she travels she does nothing except for her pleasure. She sees everything, while I see only meetings and if I am lucky a concert or two. Can you really say you’ve been to Rome if you haven’t seen the Sistine Chapel? Or to Paris if you haven’t seen the Louvre? I mean, of course I have seen these things, but what I do—it’s really not travelling at all. But you must tell me yourself, Morse, my friend—you must have travelled a great deal. How else could someone love such refined things?”

“Well, I—” Morse begins hesitantly, fighting the buzz he’s getting from the champagne.

“Come now,” Ludo says as he leans close to Morse, close enough to smell his cologne, and Morse is suddenly aware of where they’re standing in the corner with the wall behind them and Ludo’s hand on Morse’s back. “Don’t try and kid me. I know you better than that. You’ve seen all the important places, I’m sure. But to some of them I think I’d like to take you again, to see Caravaggio’s lute players and fruit sellers with kissable mouths like yours.”

Morse shifts away from Ludo slightly, gives him a look he hopes is meaningful. “We aren’t in my sitting room.”

Ludo laughs. “No one is paying attention to us.”

Still, Morse rolls his eyes and drinks his champagne. Ludo leans down against the small table and grins up at Morse, occasionally trailing fingers over Morse’s hand. Every time he does so, Morse fights to keep the smile off his face. They finish the bottle of champagne in silence.

And then they’re being encouraged to take their seats—not, as Morse had been promised, what he could consider the _best_ seats in the house, although they are in a box. As soon as they are seated, Ludo pulls his chair forward and turns it so that he and Morse are sitting almost at right angles and their knees are touching. Morse gives Ludo another look and crosses his leg away from the other man.

The lights go down and the music begins, and almost immediately Morse feels Ludo’s hand on his arm, a gentle but constant pressure. As Narraboth sings of Salome’s beauty, Ludo’s fingers grip Morse’s sleeve and pull it, tugging Morse’s arm gently onto his lap. This allows Ludo to undo Morse’s cufflink and tease his fingertips over the inside of Morse’s wrist, the sensitive skin over the pulse. Morse looks around and gives Ludo a questioning look. Ludo’s only response is to smile his charming smile. Morse looks beyond him, glances covertly around and Ludo takes his meaning.

“Don’t worry, no one will see us,” Ludo whispers seductively as he props himself up with an elbow on the railing. “Everyone’s eyes are on the opera. Only mine are on you.”

As if to make the point, Ludo slips his hand along Morse’s forearm and under his elbow to undo Morse’s jacket. Once opened, Ludo can slip his fingers through the second and thirdbuttons of Morse’s shirt. He’s smiling like he’s getting away with murder and Morse keeps looking at him as if Morse has never seen the like, incredulous. There’s a growing tightness in Morse’s trousers and he tries to ignore it and turn his eyes back to the opera, to focus on Salome’s burgeoning infatuation with Jochanaan. But Ludo lowers his fingers, tracing them along the curve of Morse’s stomach.

“Do you like this?” Ludo whispers.

“Yes,” Morse replies, voice thick.

“I will stop if you ask me.”

“Don’t.”

Ludo doesn’t. He drops his hand to Morse’s lap and slips his fingers over Morse’s thigh and encourages him to let it down, to let his legs fall slightly open so that Ludo’s hand can squeeze the flesh there. Morse’s breath catches and his eyes close. He’s aching now, the music’s tempo competing in his ears with the pounding of his own pulse in his erection. And Ludo chooses this moment to become more interested in the music, his hand doing just enough to keep Morse distracted, aroused, on edge as Narraboth kills himself for the love of Salome and Jochanaan is returned to the pit. Morse keeps looking over at Ludo, who keeps smiling down at the stage.

“Is this all I get?” Morse whispers, heavily, as Herod lusts for Salome, and his eyes are a challenge.

In response, Ludo lets his hand roam up Morse’s thigh to caress the stiffened outline of Morse’s cock. Morse makes a sound, covers it with a cough, glances sharply to the neighbouring box to their left. Shifting his chair closer to Morse, Ludo creates more cover between them and the other spectators. He takes his time fondling Morse, teasing just beyond the edge of satisfying. In addition to the constricted feeling in his trousers, Morse feels flushed under his collar, longs to take his tie off and open his shirt, feel cool air on his throat. Instead he gulps breaths as Ludo touches him, whole body tensed with how hard he’s trying to stay silent.

Morse isn’t even sure what’s happening in the opera any more when Ludo mercifully reaches up to undo the clasp at Morse’s waist, to unzip his trousers. Morse leans forward slightly, eyes still closed and praying that his face is aimed at the stage, as he grips the railing tightly. Ludo gives a soft chuckle as his hand finds its way inside Morse’s pants and then they’re skin to blood-hot skin and Morse is biting his lip until he tastes copper.

“You are so beautiful like this,” Ludo whispers, just audible to Morse above the music.

Unable to risk opening his mouth, Morse can only shudder in reply as Ludo’s fingers close around his prick and start to stroke. Pleasure blooms in Morse, pleasure mingled with the fear of discovery, the thrill of risk almost as potent now as when Ludo visits him in the evening and Violetta in the night, the two passing each other like ships in the darkness and Morse the lighthouse between them. Morse knows the feel of Ludo’s palm against the heat of his cock, the way Ludo speeds up or slows down and Morse finds himself concentrating as hard as he can to find the touch, the thought that lets him find release.

“Look, Morse, isn’t she magnificent? She reminds me of Violetta in the way that she moves,” Ludo says, almost dreamily as he keeps up the work on Morse’s erection.

Prying an eye open, Morse finds himself looking at the Dance of the Seven Veils. The soprano is, indeed, magnificent, dancing with the grace of a prima ballerina as she sheds her diaphanous clothing. But Morse is long past caring about the opera, he’s reached a plateau and is hanging there, teeth gritted, eyes screwed tight, muscles aching, until Ludo brings him to the edge of it and casts him off. Choking on the cry that sticks in his throat, Morse sits back in his seat and lets his had fall back as his hips jerk through his release.

Morse is still panting when Ludo withdraws his hand and purrs. “Do yourself up, the lights will come up soon.”

Doing as he’s told, Morse slips into insensibility as he tries to calm his breathing, to recover himself. He’s suddenly very conscious of what they’ve done, expecting some of his London peers to be waiting in the lobby to arrest them for indecency as they try to leave. How will Ludo charm his way out of this? Morse imagines the gregarious European will have no difficulty, but would he pull Morse from the fire as well?


End file.
